


Crown of Silver, Heart of Gold

by beskarberry



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cute, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, One Shot, Silly, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29428725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beskarberry/pseuds/beskarberry
Summary: Just a valentines day one-shot of my favorite tin can!
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian x reader, The Mandalorian x you
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Crown of Silver, Heart of Gold

Things had started to go missing around the _Razor Crest_ , tools and supplies vanishing under mysterious circumstances that had you scratching your head. Mando was always so _meticulous_ about where his tools were, nothing was ever out of order even when the hold was ransacked in between hunts, you could always find what you needed in the numerous, carefully labeled lockers. First the tig welder was gone, then several pairs of pliers that you needed for doing repairs around the ship, and when the fucking _duct tape_ went missing you nearly tore your hair out. However, when you actually tried to _ask_ the Mandalorian you traveled with where the hell everything was vanishing to, he acted like he had no idea what you were talking about, and though his voice was level, his fidgeting hands easily gave away the fact that he wasn’t telling the truth. 

You let it slide, for now, deciding that if he was going to lose equipment then he should be the one to have to fix shit; and you busied yourself with other tasks around the ship. Clothes needed folded, munitions needed restocking, and the window could probably use a bit of a shine-up before you took off after the next bounty. You checked the supply locker, and noticed that the scrap pieces he kept in a box at the bottom had nearly been emptied, the crate usually heaped with droid guts and bits of durasteel that could be useful in a pinch, but now you could see all the way to the bottom. You didn’t remember using any of the scrap recently, and wondered if your junk drawer was getting raided as well. _What the hell is going on?_

In your grubby spring-cleaning clothes you got to work on the interior of the hull, there were some stubborn blood stains from the last hunt that _refused_ to come out with just a mop, and you were down on your hands and knees scrubbing away when you heard footsteps come up behind you, easily recognizing his armored gait. 

“If you step on my clean floor with your dirty boots, I’ll use your bucket as a wash pail!” You quipped at him without taking your eyes off the task at hand. When he didn’t sass you back, you cocked your gaze up at him, furrowing your brow at his stance. It wasn’t like him to look so _bashful_ , but there he was with his hands behind his back and his visor tilted down and away. He shifted his weight between his legs, almost looking uncomfortable standing next to you. Rocking up on your haunches, you tossed your scrubber away to address him. “You alright? Is something wrong?”

“Um…” _Um? He doesn’t say ‘um.’_ “I...uh. I have something. For you.” Confused, you rose to your feet and brushed your hands off on your legs.

“What is it, laundry? Just add it to the pile.” You jabbed a thumb back towards the rear of the ship where the clothesheap was, but he shook his head.

“No no, not like that, I have something _for_ you.” He said with more conviction, but just barely. “Close your eyes.”

“It’s not a dead thing is it?”

“Please?”

“Alright alright.” You laughed, closing your eyes as you were so politely asked to do and held out your hands. At first, nothing happened, but after what seemed like an eternity there were soft leather gloves pushing cold metal into your hands. Hoping it was the pliers you had been looking for earlier, you eagerly opened your eyes to see what he had given you. It was a short, thin pipe that he had welded polished durasteel to along its length. At the top, a round ball joint had been surrounded with silvery plates that glittered in the hazy light of the cabin. It was lovely, strange, but very beautiful, and you turned it over in your hands trying to figure out just what the hell it was. 

“I saw something like it once, on Naboo. They called it a ‘flower’ and it grew right out of the ground. They’re very pretty, but also delicate. I… I w-wanted to give you one, but they would never survive hyperspace.” He said softly, wringing his armored hands. “It… it reminded me of you.” The reflective visor tilted away from you, avoiding your gaze now that you were looking at him. You held the metal sculpture aloft, letting the steel petals catch the light so that they shot shooting stars around the room with their mirror finish; and the sparkles shimmered back at you when they crossed over his beskar.

“Thank you.” You whispered, trying to hide the wistfulness in your voice, not used to being given gifts. “I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He said almost too readily, “Just getting to be with you is a gift, _mesh’la_.” Taking his hands in yours, you pulled him to you, careful not to damage the flower; though knowing his handiwork it was probably indestructible. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “And I love you.”

“I love you too, _ner riduur_.” You tapped the flower against the back of his helmet, playfully asking for him to lift it up for you, and the silver crown fell quickly away for you to kiss him. His soft lips against yours sent warmth coursing through you, but the tickle of his mustache brushing at your face gave you goosebumps. The smile that crept its way to your face got his attention, and he giggled shyly at you when he met your half-lidded gaze “What’s that look for?”

“Din…” You hummed coyly, letting the sound of his name flow like music from your lips. “Where’s the tig welder at?” Oh how you _loved_ those eyes of his, relishing the way they flew wide above his reddening cheeks now that the mystery of the vanishing tools had been solved. 

“Tig welder? What tig welder?” He balked, but without his helmet on he was a terrible liar, the edges of his mouth turning upwards in a sheepish smile. “We don’t have a tig welder.” You brought the metal flower back around, waving the welded creation up for him to see as you twirled it between your fingertips; letting the perfectly branded spirals that ran up the stem catch the light. 

“You sure? Then how’d you get this put together?”

“...Duct tape.”


End file.
